


heart + head

by bellarkevevo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, Crying, F/M, Lipstick, Post 2x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellarkevevo/pseuds/bellarkevevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's never been too big on crying. She tries hard not to cry, crying is weakness, tears are weakness. Love is weakness. She used to believe in that phrase so much. Look where it got her.</p>
<p>•••</p>
<p>In which Clarke Griffin discovers a tube of lipstick and eventually comes to terms with the fact that Bellamy Blake is the boy that would let her rub lipstick all over his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart + head

**Author's Note:**

> this was v v fun to write, writing conversations/confrontations between bellamy and clarke warms my heart.

_**CLARKE GRIFFIN HAS**  _a fever. It makes her feel gross and disgusting and _tired_  and often she finds herself leaning on a tree and breathing in very deeply. She wanted to go out for a "nice walk" but she found out nobody wanted to stay close to her because suddenly she's turned into A Disgusting Piece Of Trash That Needs A Tissue (courtesy of a drunk Jasper). It's like someone's exchanged her nose with a _tap_  and replaced her organs with air because she doesn't feel any pain or discomfort in her body, just tiredness. It's not a very healthy way to spend the day, especially when she's surrounded by trees and dirt and  _God_  knows what --

Her feet step on something very hard and she squints at the ground, although she's got perfectly clear vision despite the tears clogging her eyes. She picks up what looks like a small, hard, rather smooth cylindrical piece of wood and examines it, twirling it in her fingers. She's surprised when the top half comes off, right when she's in the middle of holding it upside down. Clarke's brain clicks. _Lipstick._

She isn't really sure since when, but Clarke's always loved makeup. She didn't have much of it on The Ark, really, apart from occasionally rubbing a bit of red crayon on her lips when she was eight (we've all done it -- at some point at least) and maybe coating her eyelids in powder when Abby wasn't looking. She's rolling the tube around in her hands, she's pretty sure it belongs to someone from the Grounders and makes a mental note to give it to someone who'll give it back to the owner.

It's crafted really nicely and Clarke notices the carving on the tube of wood. She doesn't understand what it says, though she runs her hands over it a couple of times. She doesn't want to go back  _there_  for a while.

She gets lonely,  _fine_. It's not a huge deal, it's not like she hasn't been alone before. Her brain automatically goes into Defense Mode:  _you're not lonely, you have a lot of friends. Some of them would probably even die for you_. She frowns, the tube still between her thumb and forefinger.

Those friends all have each other. Monty has Jasper, despite their constant bickering and fighting, Clarke knows they have each other. Raven has Wick and although she isn't on great speaking terms with her, Clarke's sure she's caught them drinking moonshine together a couple of times, laughing, both of them nattering on and on about all this mechanical shit Clarke doesn't understand. Octavia has Lincoln and Clarke has officially deemed those two inseparable. Bellamy has somebody, probably.

Defense Mode clicks again:  _some of them would probably_ die _for you._  Her stomach clenches and she thinks of Bellamy. She's not sure if he almost died for her, probably for the 47.

She doesn't like to think about it but she  _does_  remember it, she remembers how it felt standing in front of his barely breathing body, telling him she was sorry and she was going to fix him up again. He didn't speak for a few weeks after that but she's not sure if he was just silent around her.

She's mad at herself as she walks back to Camp, deciding it's better to busy herself with something instead of walking and thinking too much about Bellamy. She's mad as she stitches up some wounded girl and she's mad as she glances at the people nearby as the only thought flickering inside her mind is  _I'm alone I'm alone I'm alone._

This time, Defense Mode doesn't switch on. 

•••

"Clarke, hey." Her head snaps up as she finishes stitching up cut on the girl's arm. She frowns slightly at the figure standing above her. She doesn't smile a lot these days, actually, it's almost like the small action of her lip muscles irritates her. Bellamy Blake, however, doesn't.

"I thought you decided to not come near me, since I'm icky and all," she says, her voice cracking. Her eyes are beginning to water as she stares at him and she looks away, discovering that her patient has walked off (they  _really_  don't listen to her once she's done).

"Clarke, you're sick," he says, his voice jagged and rough.

"I am aware of that," she answers, walking towards her room since every conversation they've had after getting him rescued has felt like a stab to her heart. She's always been the first to notice how he looks away and how she stumbles over her words. It's not healthy and it  _isn't_  something you can fix, really.

"You need to get some rest, Clarke," he says again.  _Persistent._

"You need to put a shirt on, Bellamy," Clarke retorts, only just noticing how he's coming closer without a shirt on. She's not used to seeing him without one and while it doesn't exactly make her uncomfortable, she knows somewhere deep down that what he's doing is only . . .  _accelerating_  what she's feeling when she looks at him.

She surveys at him, carefully, this time noticing how there's a large cut on the lower right of his stomach. She can tell from how it looks that it's fresh and it's most likely due to some kind of blade. It's fresh and bleeding and the blood disappears when it reaches the band of his jeans. Her eyes widen and she hurries towards the small, square table that has all these med supplies on it.

" _You're injured_."

"I am aware of that," he says, mimicking her earlier tone and grins when she gives his shoulders a little push, trying to get him to sit somewhere.

She's quick on her feet and she hands him a small bottle full of crushed leaves and a glass of water. The Grounders are apparently amazing with herbs and they've got the best painkiller: _ leac divin._

"It's a painkiller, Bellamy. Just force it down or something," she mumbles, as she examines his wound. He winces when she does and she mutters a small "sorry" as she begins cleaning it up with one of the clean rags. The antiseptics here are way better than what they're used to: moonshine.

Clarke wipes the wound hastily, her current sickness getting the better of her. Bellamy snorts and mumbles something about her getting some rest as soon as she's done with him and she firmly tells him no, deliberately pressing a tiny bit harder this time she brushes the cloth on the wound.

_Six_  minutes later Bellamy Blake is all stitched up. He gets up and grabs his shirt from a nearby wall, which results in Clarke narrowing her eyes at him. She's about to busy herself with something else when she feels his hand on her shoulder.

"Clarke, uh, would you walk with me to my room?"

She's surprised, but Clarke nods. Months of awkwardness lingers in the air when she walks beside him, her mind going fuzzy. She feels different and her emotions aren't exactly helping her current situation. She can only observe, though, as he walks, slightly longer (and rather atrocious) hair flying in the wind.

When they're inside his room, Clarke looks around. She's been here countless of times, mostly when she's all angry about some dick move he's made or when he needs a good scolding after he's gotten into a fight with a Grounder.

This time, though, the visit is a little more . . .  _personal._

She's not sure why she's come inside and her eyes run across the walls, where he's hung this weird tool thing Raven and Wick made him, ("It's basically a fanny pack that shoots, we call it The Exterminator.") She's about to leave when he hands her a cup of water and she drinks it quickly, only just realizing how dry her throat feels.

"I'm going to . . ."

"Get some rest?"

" _Leave_. I'm gonna leave."

"Okay, Princess."

_Princess_. He hasn't called her that in months. He hasn't called her anything, period. Her stomach twists at the sudden memory and she gulps, licking her dry lips. Her mind feels fuzzier than before and she struggles to stand properly.

"Bellamy, you  _absolute_  dickface."

She realizes what he's done and yawns, finally giving in and flinging herself on his makeshift bed, which smells a lot like him. It's typical of him to force her to get rest and she isn't sure what he's mixed in with the water but it's quick to act on her senses and it's probably really,  _really_  --

_**SHE WAKES UP**_  and tries hard to fight the feeling to sleep again. Clarke nervously tucks in a strand of her hair behind her ear as she looks around, the darkness outside the window clearly telling her it's already night time. She yawns, stretching as her eyes scan the room for Bellamy. She feels something hard inside her back pocket and she tugs it out with her fingers, staring at the lipstick in her hands.

She's forgotten to give it back.

Clarke feels as if she should find a better use of it than keeping it in her back pocket. She's not sure the Grounders would give her any paper, though she's well aware of the fact that they have lots of it and only use it for  _official business_. She thinks back to the time Lincoln told her about the journals they keep in one of the rooms and her hands twitch. Using lipstick on paper, she's not sure how that would work out.

She finds herself feeling grateful for whatever drug he used to make her sleepy. Bellamy basically drugged her. She feels no spark of anger inside her this time. Months of awkwardness have dissolved into thin air because of his impulsive, stupid action and while she wishes she'd have the energy to argue with him after getting up, she doesn't.

Clarke walks back to her room, the cold air nipping at her cheeks as she forced herself to walk faster. She's near it in about five minutes and she pushes her hair away from her face as she opens the door, shrieking when all her friends suddenly yell a spontaneous " _happy birthday_!" to her face.

She stands still for a moment, her brain trying to process what's going on around her. Fine,  _maybe_  she let go of the fact that it's her birthday because she honestly doesn't think it matters, there are like, a hundred things that matter way more than this. Clarke blinks and her face breaks out into a huge, lopsided, rather sleepy grin.

"I thought you all hated me because I was sick," Clarke says, but she finds herself smiling the entire time she says it. "Don't be stupid, Clarke," Octavia mutters. She finds herself being pulled into a hug. Even  _Raven's_  here. Clarke's heart swells and she feels good and she feels accepted and she feels like these people love her once again and she  _finally_  feels happier than she has in months.

"Monty made a cake," Jasper blurts out. Her eyes travel towards Jasper and he smiles at her in the same goofy manner that only Jasper has mastered, probably drinking his fifth cup of moonshine.

"You've been saying that since the past hour. You just want to eat it," Monty says, but he looks secretly proud after they're done cutting it when Jasper shoves a huge slice inside his mouth. There's lots of cake and Clarke tries not to feel too grossed out when Octavia and Lincoln kiss, mouths covered in cake and saliva. It's pretty graphic. 

Clarke has two slices, mostly because the last time she ate was a whole day ago and because the cake is  _really fucking good._

She can't  _believe_ her friends are throwing her a birthday party. Birthdays weren't a huge deal at The Ark, since you were basically a year closer to being floated. But  _this_ makes her feel all warm and nice inside, like she isn't a year closer to dying, although she's been conditioned to think that ever since she was young. Clarke walks towards Raven. She turns and acknowledges Clarke with a small nod and a minuscule smile.

"I'm glad you came."

"Wick The Dick forced me to," Raven says, but somehow her voice doesn't have the same harshness in it and Clarke smiles back when she sees Wick mouthing  _no no no_ at her. 

"Rav --  _I_ wanted to make you something for your birthday. It should be ready by tomorrow."

"I don't want anything," Clarke tells Wick.  _Except maybe for her to forgive me._

"Oh, trust me, you'll want  _this._ We used these old crappy parts and made this fucking awesome slingshot, except it has these sharp discs, which are basically shurkien kinda things. One to the throat and you're  _dead_ ," Raven explains. Wick raises an eyebrow and Clarke tells her thanks and watches quietly as Raven beams, proudly.

But Raven's  _smiling_  and it's the first time she's smiled at Clarke after Finn's death. Clarke forces those thoughts away from her mind and smiles back, suddenly engulfing Raven in a big hug. It's probably too much all at once and Clarke knows it'll take them time to get back to where they once were, it's a dark thought and she hugs her former friend harder. Raven's hands grace her back, gingerly, lightly. 

__ "Happy Birthday, Clarke," Raven mumbles in her shoulder. Clarke smiles.

"Where's Bellamy?" she asks Octavia, ten minutes later, once she's done telling Jasper that  _no,_ they can  _not_ go on another  _super adventure_ again because the last one almost got them  _killed._

"He was scared you might murder him after he gave you that thing I sometimes give Lincoln when he's in the mood to fight somebody," Octavia says. Lincoln widens his eyes and sends her a questioning look which disappears as soon as she distracts him with a kiss. Clarke laughs and tells them she'll be back, once she's murdered Bellamy.

They all cheer.

•••

Clarke feels good when she's walking towards the woods. She's smiling widely the whole time. She feels very drunk because she's had too much of Monty's moonshine and the wind is loud in her ears.

She's not sure  _how_  much she's had to drink but she can distinctly feel it in her mouth as she runs her tongue over her teeth. The aftertaste is like battery acid.

When she catches sight of him, he's a dark silhouette, sitting near the river. She remembers sitting there often, the first month after completely broke down. It used to be her quiet place. Now it's his. The thought doesn't bother her because she's often seen him sitting there. She never approached him then, he was too intimidating, too  _broken --_  because of her.

When she's almost there, she stumbles. It's something she's used to, she's used to it because it's pretty normal around Bellamy. She stumbles over her words and occasionally a small rock. It's no big deal, really.

" _Bellamy_!"

His head turns towards her and he frowns at her momentarily, noticing how she's started fiddling with her shoes. He's just about to get up when she starts walking towards him again. He raises an eyebrow when he notices she's giggling.

"You're awfully happy, Princess."

"Some of me is. Thanks to that birthday party you threw me," Clarke says, nudging him. Bellamy scoffs.

"As if I'd ever do something like that."

Clarke guffaws and the sound is definitely not melodious, she concludes, after she catches him wincing.

"You're drunk?"

"I'm  _sorry._ "

"Princess, you're drunk."

"Mm. I guess. Also sorry."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Bellamy, from now on, your job is to be The Peach Of Light."

__ " _Jesus fucking Christ_."

"I had a peach to eat the other day. They're not that great."

"Huh."

"I'm sorry for almost getting you killed."

His eyes widen a fraction, as if he doesn't really expect to hear those words. She isn't sure why she's said it but she's so drunk and happy and her mouth tastes like battery acid and she feels like she's on fire.

"I . . ."

"Think that's a great way to apologize?"

He grimaces and Clarke's bubbly exterior fades. She looks at him and she curses under her breath, hoping he wont hear.  _God_ , she's such an idiot. She's always been pretty shit at apologizing. She thinks back to all the times she's never said sorry, or maybe she said it over and over and it started to mean nothing. The bitter image of Raven sobbing over Finn's dead body flickers in her mind and she tries to make it go away. It's too raw, _too much_.

__ "D'you think you'll ever forgive me?"

Her voice cracks with the same intensity it did when she saw him inside the cage. She squeezes her eyes shut and she clenches her fists and it feels like someone's set a fire loose inside her.  _Fuck_ , he was in a cage. He was  _tortured_. She sent him there to  _die._

__ "I'll consider it," he says, jokingly. He notices her wiping at her eyes furiously, obviously not meaning for him to see her like this. She feels like she's breaking down again. She thought she was past that point when she saw them kill Gustus. She doesn't feel numb anymore and it  _sucks._

"Hey, Clarke," he whispers but she's already wrapped her arms around him and she's pressing her face to his shirt that smells like him and he feels the slight pain from his "wound" but he doesn't complain. She knows she's getting his shirt wet and she knows it's not her place to cry because she's the monster.

Clarke's never been too big on crying. She tries hard not to cry, crying is weakness.  _Love_  is weakness.  _Huh_ , she used to believe in that phrase so much. Look where it got her. She's weeping all over Bellamy's shirt. It feels a lot less embarrassing when he's got his arms around her and he's rubbing small circles on her back.

He's so _nice_  to her. He's always been nice to her, from the minute he saved her from falling into that pit and breaking her neck to the present moment, where he's being all soft and gentle and so  _goddamn_  nice, almost to the point where she wants him to be rude and tell her she's a fucking asshole. She deserves it.

It goes on like that for a while, both of them dark silhouettes from afar, lost between the traces of the quiet world they've created. Not too quiet, though, there's the occasional sniff from Clarke and the wind is still angry at both of them but it's quiet enough for her to listen to the beat of his heart and somehow, it's enough.

"As The Peach Of Light, it's officially my duty to forgive you," Bellamy says after a while. She smiles against his shirt, too tired to pull away. She feels needy, she  _wants_  to be needy. "I don't think I was ever angry at you, Princess. I was angry at myself. Wasn't exactly the kind of person who could put up with the Mountain Men. All talk and no play, y'know?"

__ "Bellamy, I was a dick to you. I'm . . . I'm so sorry. I let Lexa get to me and I . . . I guess I thought I was being strong. I don't - I'm sorry, Bellamy.

"And for the record, you're an ass for being mad at yourself. You're so brave, you know?"

He snorts.

"Clarke, I tried to run away because I shot the Chancellor."

"But you  _shot the Chancellor_. I mean, I'm pretty drunk, but that was brave as fuck."

"Was it?"

"God, you just don't get it, do you, Bellamy? You're like this Shining Knight Of Silver. Or gold. But silver's more of your color. You're this brave asshole and you'd do anything for your sister and you're so fucking strong and you're, you're this . . ."

"Peach Of Light?"

She's smiling widely this time and she pulls away, her cheeks flushed. She nods and she's tempted to hug him again but she refrains herself from doing so.

"I'm so sorry, Bellamy," she whispers, after a while.

"I _know_ , Clarke. You shouldn't be. We're messed up but we always try to do what's right."

"Doesn't change the fact that what I did was wrong."

"It wasn't. I was all in for it. Hey, it was  _my_  idea. You just can't take credit for it, Princess."

She sighs.

"You forgive me, right?"

__ "Clarke, you didn't do anything wr\--"

"I did. I sent you out there to die!"

"I was probably going to do it, sooner or later,  _either way._ "

"That's -- that's not the point."

"I got you something," he says. She looks as him suspiciously because she's aware he's trying to steer them away from the current conversation she needs to have, otherwise she won't be sleeping tonight. She watches as he reaches for his pocket and pulls out a small journal.

"Bellamy!"

It's a half-gasp, half-whisper as she gingerly takes it from him, running her hands through the blank pages and her heartbeat quickens. It feels like she's in this temporary bubble of heaven and if she was grinning a few minutes before, it's nothing compared to the full-blown smile she's giving him. He smiles back and she's just starting to imagine how the pages will look like one's she's used up all of them.

"Well, this cheered you up considerably."

Clarke's brain clicks as the feel of the tube of lipstick in her back pocket becomes prominent.

"Well, there is  _one other_  way . . ."

_**HALF AN HOUR**  _and a whole lot of bickering later, Bellamy Blake is closing his eyes as Clarke looms above him, resting his legs on either side of his thighs as she examines the lipstick in her hands.

"Okay, how should we do this, you want a full makeover or like, a partial?"

"Princess, _I swear to God_  . . ."

"I'm thinking a complete makeover would look cool. Give you a bit of a charm and flair."

"Why did I agree to this?"  
  
She's too drunk to remind him he didn't.

She's sloppy as she applies it to his upper lip. It's not exactly a lipstick with finesse and a pointy tip, so she's not to blame when it smudges a bit.

(A lot).

"Hold  _still,_  Bellamy."  
  
"It's not exactly easy with you tilting my head every three fucking seconds."

"It's  _dark_."  
  
She glides it smoothly over his bottom lip, admiring her handiwork, despite having to squint to observe it. It's dark red and you can just see how frustrated Bellamy looks with her smearing the goop all over his face.  
  
She tries to rub the bits that have smudged with her thumb and ends up smearing it even more. Clarke sighs and she curses when his entire lower chin is covered with smudged lipstick.  
  
"Okay, so maybe it doesn't look totally bad."  
  
"Princess, once you're done, I'm going to murder you."

She reminds herself at the mention of murder, that she was here to confront him about the whole drugging thing, but she's having way too much fun now. Bellamy smells of wet dirt and leaves.

"Hold still."  
  
She runs her thumb over his top lip, gingerly.

"Hold still."  
  
She tries to apply it between the cracks of his lips.

"It's like you're doing this on  _purpose_."

"Princess, you're not being very tolerable right now," Bellamy mutters because for some _godforsaken_ reason she's rubbing his forehead too. He doesn't want to imagine what he'll look like once she's done.  
  
"One second, please."

He sighs.

"There, we're all done."  
  
"Finally. Now let me wash this muck off."  
  
She feels a little hurt when he says that but tries not to let it show.

__ "Happy birthday, Clarke Griffin," he says and her eyes are wide as plates as he rubs all these lipsticky zigzags over her face.

"Oh, it's  _on_ , Bellamy Blake."

__ That's what she says before both of them are a messy, lipsticky heap an hour later, smelling vaguely of lipstick and dirt when the only thought flickering through Clarke's mind is  _I'm not alone I'm not alone I'm not alone._

             _ **fin.**_


End file.
